


A Piece of the Continent, A Part of the Main

by exbex



Category: Wilby Wonderful (2004)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-12
Updated: 2011-07-12
Packaged: 2017-10-21 07:34:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/222540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/exbex/pseuds/exbex





	A Piece of the Continent, A Part of the Main

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Andeincascade (Ande)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ande/gifts).



Wilby Island, 1983

Buddy found Duck at the Watch, staring out across the water and leaning back on the sand, resting his weight on his elbows. He didn’t turn his head at Buddy’s approach.

Buddy started to drop down next to him, but caught himself, knowing he would have to explain why his suit had grass and sand on it.

“It was a good speech,” Duck acknowledged Buddy’s presence without looking up at him, his eyes still traveling across the water.

“So you were there,” Buddy kicked a tuft of beach grass and squinted in the afternoon sun.

“Heard it all from under the bleachers,” Duck replied, still not looking at him.

“Is there a reason you didn’t go to your own graduation?”

“It never gets old, Buddy. You, asking questions you already know the answer to.”

Buddy frowned. It was true; Walter MacDonald Sr. was probably nursing a bottle right now, completely unaware of the high school graduation ceremonies that had wrapped up less than an hour ago. But it was easier to ask a stupid question than to admit what was really bothering him. He had wanted Duck there, probably more so than he had wanted his gloating parents, and definitely more so than his antsy classmates and his teachers and principals who he was convinced only feigned interest.

“Couldn’t afford a decent suit anyway,” Duck had shifted his position so that he was sitting up, resting his arms on his knees, but he still didn’t look at Buddy.

“You could’ve-“ Buddy snapped his mouth shut. There was no point in stating the obvious of let me give you the money, unless he wanted to watch Duck wave his hand dismissively. He had a feeling he wasn’t going to even get that blank stare that Duck had perfected, and he’d had enough disappointment for one day.

“Can’t sneak a smoke when you’re sitting and waiting either,” Duck continued. “And MacDonald is right in the middle of the alphabet. Way too long before and after getting the diploma. Nobody wants to sit next to the twitchy guy who needs his nicotine fix.”

Duck finally turned around, to look up at Buddy, but not to meet his eyes. He was looking at Buddy’s zipper, his fingers drumming on his own thigh, looking like he was itching to reach out and pull the zipper down and pull Buddy’s cock free from his suit pants. Buddy barely noticed; he was fixated on the fading bruises on Duck’s face, his lingering black eye.

He wanted to know who had left them; it was right on the edge of his tongue, to ask. His fists wanted to clench, but he just left his hands at his sides and his questions unasked. Too many possible answers, and not a single thing he really could do about it, and even if he could, he probably wouldn’t have the guts.

It felt like the late spring sun was setting a weight onto his shoulders.

“What do ya say, Buddy? One last blowjob before I leave Wilby?”

Duck’s tone was that weird mix of sarcasm and wistfulness and lust, but he barely registered, and for once Buddy’s body didn’t respond in its usual way to that eagerness that he had become accustomed to from Duck.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“I’m leaving on the four o’clock ferry,” Duck replied. He stood, his eyes fixing on Buddy’s. There was a determined look to them, unusual in its intensity. He almost seemed to be daring Buddy to try to stop him.  
Or maybe hoping. Buddy couldn’t tell.

That was why Duck couldn’t afford a suit for graduation. “What will you do there?” His own voice sounded hollow to him.

Duck shrugged. “Work the boats or the docks. Factory. Something. What’s the big deal? You’re going.”

“Just for school,” Buddy said. “I’m coming back.”

Duck gave him a small but sincere smile. “Yeah, you’ll be running this place before long. With a nice little wife and some kids. This place wants you here. It needs you.”

Buddy didn’t know how to reply to that, and he was stopped in his thought process by Duck’s kiss, which was hard and messy and desperate and sad. Duck pulled away and gave him a little shove. “Be good.” He turned and walked away, towards the ferry.

Buddy wanted to yell out, ask him to wait, but he had places to be today, so he headed back to his parents’ place, suddenly feeling weary.

**

Wilby Island 2005

Dan found Duck at the Watch, looking out across the water and leaning back on the sand, resting his weight on one elbow. He turned and gave Dan a grin. “Buddy gave a good speech today.”

“That he did,” Dan settled down next to Duck. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard Buddy use so many words to make a statement before.”

“Is that what he was doing?” Duck had returned to looking at the water.

“You know as well as I do,” Dan plucked a blade of beach grass and ran it through his index finger and thumb with his other hand. “All that talk about the future and Wilby’s place in it. About the need to remember that we’re not cut off from the world and we need to be tolerant and accepting. It was a nice jab.”

“Good for him,” Duck said, squinting into the midday sunlight. “I knew he had it in him.” He suddenly stretched out his legs and lay his head in Dan’s lap, peering up at Dan, the lines on his face and around his eyes a sort of contrast to his calm. “Heard you coming,” he said. “Your walk sounds a little different these days. More assured. Like you got something to be proud of.”

Dan blinked. Duck wasn’t exactly the verbose type, but he had a tendency to point out some fairly profound truths. “I guess I do,” he smiled. “We should probably get back to the picnic,” he said, but he buried the fingers of one hand in Duck’s hair and lazily drew them over his scalp.

“In a minute,” Duck closed his eyes, and a moment later, when he opened them, the blue was startling in the seriousness of Duck’s look. “I don’t mind leaving this place,” he said, “I know you aren’t that happy here.”

It startled Dan. He hadn’t realized that Duck had noticed. He looked away from Duck and out at the water.

“I don’t know,” he finally replied when he looked back at Duck. “Things have gotten better.”

“I’m not just saying that,” Duck continued. “Newfoundland, Ireland, Hawaii, Sicily, fucking Papua New Guinea for all I care. As long as you’re there; I’m there.”

Dan couldn’t help his smile. He looked at Duck closely. Funny, but it didn’t look as if Duck, in his rattling off of random places, had realized that he had named only islands. “Maybe,” he said as he squeezed Duck’s hand. “For now, we’ve got a picnic to attend. Of course, last year you promised there’d be a parade by now,” he teased.

They brushed sand off as they stood up. “Well, I’d suggest we make our own, but nobody’s gonna even notice if we walk down the street holding hands,” Duck said wryly.

“True enough,” Dan replied, and was interrupted by a kiss, soft and careful but insistent. They started walking, hand-in-hand up the beach, their feet being dragged back by the sand. Dan laughed. “One step forward, two steps back.”

Duck gave his hand a squeeze and shielded his eyes with his free hand. “Nah, not for long.”


End file.
